Oliver

I am grateful for these days. Long lazy ones where I am doing little aside from people watching, chatting, wandering the web, eating good food, and best of all, being with my Oliver. I am grateful for these days because it is coming more apparent to me that he will not make it to another summer.

So far, it's been a good summer. A great one, really (he's still here, after all!) I thought he went missing last week-end, but as it turned out, he had followed my dad down to the docks and dad decided to take him along for the boat ride. His first boat ride! At fifteen years old! Not bad.

He is slowing down appreciably. Physically, he is not the dog of last summer. Not much  running around, chasing the younger dogs. I am thankful that he seems to know his limits and lays low consciously. He does wander from time to time, but never goes far. If he wanders with any conviction, he returned panting in excess; a side effect of his heart problem. It simply doesn't pump quite right and he breathes heavier to compensate, albeit unsuccessfully. So, we are all conscious of this and sort-of encourage him to not move around so much. It's good that he is happy to simply be. That is clear. Last night he laid on my lap on the couch, purring/groaning/moaning louder than I have heard him do before, for a very long time.

I think his taste buds are going along with his sight and his hearing. He doesn't eat as much as I'd like him to. So now, because he is growing a bit skinny, I give him treats more often, small table scraps, plus I add a very small amount of ground beef to his kibble and he eats it right up. It's very exciting for him. He sort of bounces on his toenails in anticipation of the ground beef addition when he seems me heating it (I know heating it is silly, but it just seems inedible cold).

To look at him he still looks like a puppy. People say that all the time. They are surprised when I tell them his age when they ask. When I truly stop and look, he is an aging man. A sweet, aging man. I think about his antics in years past – running around like a wild man, chasing lizards, humping all the other dogs at the dog park, sticking his head out the window with such interest, attacking the mail as it came through the mail slot, and the general excitement for everyday stuff that only dogs can show.

It's a different phase I hadn't thought about witnessing. I guess I thought he'd just be one way until the end. I never thought I'd have an aging dog on my hands. He is not decrepit by any means, he is perfectly content, and his quality of life is great. He is not suffering. For this I am grateful, but the aging, the slow slipping away of him? I just hadn't thought about that part. I love him in any capacity, and I will continue to love him and hold on to him until it seems his quality of life is in jeopardy. I will not tolerate him in pain.

I worry about how he will go. I know it is morbid, but I cannot help it. I am crossing my fingers it will be in his sleep (please, let it be in his sleep!). But, if he is awake, I hope that I am with him (please, let me be with him).

Now I will wipe the tears of anticipatory grief from my eyes, because after all, there is nothing to grieve - he is snoring at me feet! He is still here! And he is still happy to follow me around and lay at my feet...or the feet of whomever might scratch him behind the ears next or pass him a treat. And we are all happy to give it to him!

I don't know how he doesn't get a neck ache!

I took this while trying out a new ring light. Sort of as magazine portrait effect.

Waiting for treats. You'll notice his bum isn't quite sitting. He's sort-of faking it.

Day Caper

Since I try to avoid posting when it basically translates into whining, I have not been posting much lately. Not that life is terrible, because it certainly isn't. I have two legs. They are handy and that's good.

I was talking with a close friend of mine recently, who's family lives on the same block as mine and we were lamenting about the condition of our families; broken ankles, kidney stones, colds, ear infections, seizure disorders; it just seems to be all around us. And now, Oliver appears to be having his yearly allotted eye ulcer. I don't have the money to fix it really - I wonder if super glue is out of the question? Oh, wait, I'd have to find the super glue in the carriage house full of boxes which used to be my apartment.

On Saturday, Dad and I went on a little trip to the Cape. I think it's an excuse really, for him to go the Bourne's very thorough dump. He likes it. It's fun. You show-up there with a van busting at it's soldered points with cardboard, catalogs, Styrofoam and more and you leave with nothing. It's very therapeutic, really. And I like a day to myself with Papa Bear.

There's always the car dance, of course. With the dogs. They must come with us. There is one seat in the back for them to share and whatever side Oliver's on, Bootsie MUST be there too. Like, right where YOU are, Oliver! RIGHT THERE! At first, this led to Oliver teetering on the edge of the seat while Bootsie leaned on him in an effort to herd him from his spot because actually, it's her spot, don't you know?

When we made our first stop for a breakfast for the road, I moved the dogs so Oliver was on the side of the seat which abuts the car door. This way, Bootsie could take all the room she wanted and not shove him off the seat. But sure enough, Oliver's view out the window was better than what Bootsie had, so she shoved and shoved until Oliver was smashed-up against the window and finally, he somehow climbed over her to go back to where he started. Of course, he was laying down on the seat at this point and lowering your center of gravity clearly makes shoving you less interesting to Bootsie because she left him alone.

We made a stop at Scott's End, too, just to check on things. The minute we made the turn onto Wing's Neck Trust, Bootsie started to cry. Whimper. With excitement of where we were going. They always know. We opened the van doors and they shot out of the van like it was on fire. Each one in a different direction. They love it there. The room to run and of course, an ocean for Bootsie to jump into a day after she's been groomed. Because really, what's the point of being groomed if you can't completely ruin it with some salty water and sand fleas the very next day?

they played nice on the ride home, too tired to shove each other around.

Cape Escape

I am in the Cape with my parents this weekend before my surgery day after tomorrow. A day wandering shops with Mom and this evening, a tick removal party with me, Mom, and Dad gathered around Oliver and removed these bad boys after a walk with me and Dad and Bootsie.
In the hundreds, at least...

Lunch at Mashpee Common...


Bootsie playing (and destroying) a ball that Dad found in the yard.